


Childe Riddick

by ban_sidhe



Category: Chronicles of Riddick (2004)
Genre: Gen, Meaning of Life, Soliloquy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-09
Updated: 2012-08-09
Packaged: 2017-11-11 18:57:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/481799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ban_sidhe/pseuds/ban_sidhe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Riddick talks about his life and beliefs</p>
            </blockquote>





	Childe Riddick

Author’s Notes: The man’s mind fascinates me. I researched psychopaths, sociopaths and several personality disorders before doing this ‘soliloquy’. According to what I’ve read, (and remember from college), Riddick is neither psychopath or sociopath. He may have an antisocial or dis-social personality disorder, but he is _**not** _insane. Also read Byron’s “Childe Harold’s Pilgrimmage”... hence the title. Harold and Riddick have many similar qualities. They are both exiles, country-wise and emotionally. Arrogant and disrespectful of authority, they are disillusioned with the world they find themselves inhabiting. Both are nomads, looking for something they can’t explain. Intelligent, adaptable, cunning, perceptive and cynical, they find it easy to con others, especially women who find them fascinating. In the true sense of the word, in that they are attracted against their better judgement, but can’t stay away. And both tend to be moody, unpredictably changing from charming to dangerous. Both also have difficulty expressing their true feelings and struggle with their own sense of integrity, or code of honor, if you will.__

PS: The term ‘childe’ is a medieval English term for a young man who might be considered as a candidate for knighthood. Ironic, considering how Riddick ends up. Childe Riddick 

I’m different. Not part of the normal herd. Always have been, always will be. Like it that way. I have sharper senses, am physically stronger, have greater endurance and resistance to pain, recover faster from stress, heal faster, get sick less often. When I say I’m better than you, it’s simple truth. 

Always been resented and singled out for punishment because of it. Long as I can remember. People don’t like different; what they don’t understand. They’re afraid of it... and that makes them dangerous. They’ll try to kill what they can’t control. 

I’m a survivor. Sometimes that means I kill first. Sometimes it means I leave people I could have saved behind. Not my problem. 

If they’d just leave me alone, everybody’d be a lot happier. But, humans are as curious as they are suspicious. Just gotta poke a stick at the sleeping monster. Monkey mentality. 

I am a monster. By definition. Again, not my problem. Their perception. Don’t mean I appreciate being poked. I don’t. 

An’ that includes the shrinks. Especially them. I’ve hated ‘em since I was a kid. Like foster care wasn’t rough enough. Then ya got these ‘doctors’ always yakking at ya; trying t’ get inside yer head. ‘Explain’ t’ the fosters what’s ‘wrong’ with ya. Wasn’t ever nothin’ wrong. Not with me. 

Like they gave a shit, anyways. Long’s I was healthy enough to work, all they cared about. Fed us just enough t’ keep us goin’. “Roof over yer head, food on yer plate... whaddya got t’ complain about, _**boy**_?” Had enough by th’ time I was 12. 

Wasn’t about t’ become ‘Daddy’s’ play toy. Seen th’ results o’ that. So I hit the streets. Too big t’ get away with beggin’ for food, so I stole. Not like I was takin’ it offa somebody’s plate. Mostly restaurant garbage bins. Slept in alleys ‘n doorways. Got caught a few times; spent some time in juvie. 

Now, there’s an educational facility for ya. All kinds a’ interestin’ people in there; thieves, junkies, prosties, gangstas, killers. Learned a _**lot**_. How t’ con, pick locks ‘n pockets, negotiate if ya can’t escape, make yer own weapons, how t’ kill... quick ‘n silent. Stayed away from th’ drugs; no control, can’t think straight. Caught on t’ that quick. 

Learned how t’ make people fear me. You can get a lot, almost anything you want, if you make the right people afraid. Gained some respect, too. Right after I put down the first big mother tried t’ fuck my ass. His mistake? Too used t’ people caving, didn’t check his opponent careful enough. I read people real well. He didn’t. 

Rep’s important in slam. Sometimes it’s enough by itself t’ keep the inmates away. Even th’ guards if yer lucky. If yer bad enough. 

First kill? I was fifteen. Fostered out again, to a work farm. The boss liked young girls. There was one, this cute little blonde, new t’ the system, I guess. Innocent like. For some reason, she took t’ me. Followed me around, slept curled up behind my knees most nights. 

Th’ others teased me about my ‘pet’. Told ‘em t’ shut it; they’d get ‘er hurt, but they wouldn’t lissen. An’ they knew I was looking at hard time if I fucked up again. So one day, she didn’t come out t’ the fields noontime t’ bring me a drink. Knew somethin’ was wrong and went lookin’ for ‘er. 

Oh, I found ‘er. What was left of ‘er, anyways. She was only ten years old. So I looked up the boss and did t’ him what he done t’ her. First time th’ rage took me. Then I ran. Wasn’t fast enough. 

Spent the next two years in an’ outta slam. Learning again. The hard way, this time. 

Keep yer mouth shut and yer head down. Stay invisible. Be patient. 

An’ if nothin’ else works, take out the adversary. But, don’t hesitate once ya start. Strike first, quick and unexpected. Follow through instantly. Look for weaknesses an’ use ‘em t’ yer advantage. Always protect yer back. Trust no one. 

So, now the Company says I’m just what they’re lookin’ for. Big, strong, smart an’ fast. I learn quick. Being a soldier means I get three square a day and a bed... an’ I’m free. Better than being in a cage. Fuck, I even get paid. I’ll take it, for now. ‘Til somethin’ better comes along. 

So what happens? They throw me inna mine... scouting for monsters with a buncha other fools. S’posed t’ kill ‘em so’s the miners can dig out their precious ore. Miners! *snort* Slaves, more like. But, one a ‘em taught me how t’ cheat at dice as a thank you fer saving his miserable ass. 

So, no more playing bait fer the beasties. Let th’ other idiots have that job. 

Friends? Not in my vocabulary. Only ends badly, you let someone get too close. People will use you for what they can, then fuck you over when it suits them better. So, I stay away... or fuck them first. It’s kill or be killed out there in th’ big dark. 

And for what? What comes after? How th’ fuck would I know? Why should I care? 

Yeah, I believe in God. How could I be found in a trash bin with my umbilical round my neck and not believe? Or spend half my life in slam with a horse bit in my mouth and not believe? Oh, I absolutely believe... and I absolutely hate the fucker. 

Ain’t never given me anything t’ be thankful for. All I ever got from him was pain; and he took everything I ever cared about. He ain’t Allah or Jesus or even Buddha. He’s fuckin’ Loki. Nasty sense o’ humour. 

Life ain’t pretty, an’ it ain’t neat. It’s mean an’ hard, ugly an’ messy. But it’s all we got. I intend t’ keep mine for as long as I can. Whatever it takes.


End file.
